


Cheating

by CrashDevil (cjdevlin19)



Series: Crash Into Me [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gen, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 20:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19092289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjdevlin19/pseuds/CrashDevil
Summary: Dean and Crash go to a local pool hall for some much needed hang-out time.~~~~~~~~~But I’ll let you destroy me in pool until some other folks show up for you to play.”“How ‘bout I teach you to play?” Dean suggested, reaching down to grab the billiard balls and set them up. “It’ll be a lot of standing way too close to you and running my hands up your arms and telling you what a good job you’re doin’. I mean, if that’s okay with you.”“Sure.” She blushed and took a drink of the scotch, grimacing slightly at the burn.





	Cheating

**Story Warnings** : pining, angst, self-esteem issues, eating disorder

  
“You were literally a Vestal virgin?” Crash chuckled through the phone and Dean smirked at her teasing.

“Yeah, Vesta wasn’t impressed.”

“How could she _not_ be impressed by you, Dean?” There was a moment of silence before she continued, “Who’d you sleep with?”

“I’m offended, Crash. You think I’m lacking willpower?”

“No, I know you’ve got willpower, but… you totally pissed off Vesta so you must’ve broken your pledge. Who’d you screw?”

Dean licked his lips and chuckled. “You ever seen _Casa Erotica 28_?”

“I’ve seen clips of it on Pornhub,” she answered, honestly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Dean loved that about Crash, how she didn’t care about him judging her, how they had spent hours talking favorite pornos and porn stars and porn sites. He’d even given her his sign-on for ‘Busty Asian Beauties Platinum’ so that she could enjoy the ladies, too. He supposed it was easier to not be embarrassed about it when he was just a voice on the other end of the phone and had been for almost a year.

“Carmelita, her real name is Suzy Lee. She, uh, was head counsellor for Vesta’s little abstinence group.”

“You banged a porn star?!” she exclaimed. “Jealous!”

“You know, she had some girl-on-girl scenes so you might have a shot.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, scoffing.

“So, what are you doing this weekend?” Dean asked, changing the subject.

“Nothing. I’m off tomorrow, so probably gonna stay up all night watching Netflix.”

“Mike workin’?”

“No. He’s playing Dark Souls.”

“So, if a ‘67 Chevy pulled up and whisked you away for the night, there’d be someone to watch the kid?”

There was silence for a moment before a soft reply. “Dean, are you in Florida?”

“Just passin’ Mobile. I’ll be at your place in… ninety minutes, traffic depending.”

“Really? Are you on a hunt or-”

“Nah, just got done with one. Milk run I took solo. Salt and burn in Tuscaloosa. Figured, since I was only four and a half hours from the Crash Pad, I’d swing by.” There was another moment of tense silence. “If you don’t wanna see me, kid, let me know now so I can get on I-10 West instead of East.”

“Of course I want to see you! It’s just short notice and Mike hates when I change plans at the last minute, but… fuck it. I’ll deal with his irritation. I’m gonna get off the phone so I can get ready. Message me when you get close.”

“You got it.” Dean hit ‘End Call’ and tossed his phone on the seat next to him.

An hour and a half later he was pulling into the parking space next to the little red Honda Nighthawk. He pressed the heel of his palm to the horn and waited. The door opened and she stepped out and he smiled. Her hair was recently dyed, no dark roots to be seen, and she had it down so he could see that it was down almost to her ass. She was wearing makeup for the first time he’d seen, but it was simple: brown eyeliner and a rose pink lipstick. She had new glasses, slightly larger round ones with black and teal frames and she’d obviously lost some weight in the year, but she wasn’t comfortable with her appearance. Dean could tell by the way she tugged at her Green Day concert tee as she ran down the stairs.

Dean reached over and pushed the passenger door open for her and she slipped into the car. “Hey, blondie. You goin’ for Rapunzel or Lady Godiva with that hair?”

She blushed and shook her head, settling into the leather. “Neither. I just think I look good with it long.”

“Look good either way.” Dean winked at her and watched her blush deepen. “All right. Where ya wanna go, Crash?”

“Well, that depends. You just wanna drink? 98 West has good prices, a great jukebox, friendly bartenders who overpour the drinks and it’s half-dead all the time. You want karaoke or something like that I-”

“I haven’t played a good game of pool recently.”

“Then, International Billiard Club is the dive for you, Mr. Winchester. Head back to Main, take a left.”

Dean pulled out of the parking lot and headed for Main Street. “So, how big of a fit did your husband pitch?”

“Oh, huge-ungous, but… you don’t come South very often so he can suck it.”

Dean drove them to the bar and whistled when they walked in. Six pool tables sat on ugly grey carpeting, two of them with ripped felt to the point that they were unusable. It smelled like smoke and stale beer. It reminded him of a pool hall version of the Roadhouse.

“Told ya it was a dive.”

“A beautiful dive,” he said, smiling. “Let’s get some drinks and then we can play.”

“Oh, I don’t play, Dean.”

Dean’s eyebrows tucked together. “What do you mean, you don’t play? How’d you know about this place, then?”

“Mike and his friends play sometimes,” she said, walking up to the bar. Dean ordered a beer and a plate of nachos while Crash ordered a scotch on the rocks.

“Scotch?”

“Biggest bang for your buck, calorie-wise.”

“Uh-huh. You’re gonna have some nachos, right?” Dean asked, setting his beer on a table and heading for the pool cues.

“No,” she said, grabbing the shortest cue from the rack and smiling at him. “But I’ll let you destroy me in pool until some other folks show up for you to play.”

“How ‘bout I teach you to play?” Dean suggested, reaching down to grab the billiard balls and set them up. “It’ll be a lot of standing way too close to you and running my hands up your arms and telling you what a good job you’re doin’. I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

“Sure.” She blushed and took a drink of the scotch, grimacing slightly at the burn.

Dean did exactly what he said as he helped her line up the shot to break, pressing himself close to her back as they leaned over the table, breathing in the smell of her shampoo as he looked over the top of her head and adjusted her grip on the stick.

It was a good break, scattering the numbered balls across the table, sinking the orange striped ‘13’ in the corner pocket. She smiled at him as he pulled away from her. “A thirteen for the witch. That’s lucky.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it is. So, you’re stripes. You can only sink striped balls.”

“I know that. I might not play but I’ve seen enough to know that much.”

“All right, Sassy.” Dean smirked as he gestured at the table. “Where ya wanna go next? Evaluate your angles, see where each ball could end up and plan your next move.”

She bit her lip as she walked around the table. “Do you think I could put the 15 in the side pocket?” she asked, quietly.

Dean nodded. “Well, _I_ could, so I can help you do it.” Dean helped her line up the shot and leaned back as she took it, sinking the 15 in the side pocket easily. “Good job, sweetheart! Looks like you’re getting the hang of it!”

“Well, you’re doing most of the work.”

Dean helped her set up every shot she went for and was obviously taking it easy on her when it came time for his turn. She still didn’t get the 8 ball, though, and the game was over by the time Dean’s nachos made it out of the kitchen. They sat at a tall, round table and Dean started to dig in. “You aren’t gonna make me eat all this by myself, are you?” he asked, mouth half-full. “I mean, I can put this all down, but…”

She looked at the plate, longingly, before reaching out and taking a chip. “Just a few.”

“Why?”

“I’m on a diet, Dean.”

“Why?” She rolled her eyes and popped the chip into her mouth. “No, seriously. You look hot, why are you on a diet?”

“I’m fat, that’s why.”

“So?” She scoffed and he leaned forward. “No, I’m serious. You look great! Why are you-”

“You’re not the one who has to see me naked.”

“Oh, so you’re doing this for Mike?”

“I’m doing this because I’m five-three and I should weigh a hundred-twenty at the most and I weigh twice that.” She reached out and grabbed another chip. “Being able to have sex with my husband without either of us being grossed out would be a major plus, though.”

“He’s grossed out by you?”

“ _I’m_ grossed out by me.”

“That’s fucked up. You can’t starve yourself, Crash.”

She grabbed another chip with a scowl. “I’m not starving myself, I’m just not eating as much as I used to.” She pointedly ate the chip. “See? Eating.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I bitched at you.”

Cassie rolled her eyes and helped him finish the plate without another complaint, talking about her job and the scary dream she was going to turn into a murder mystery. When the last chip was gone, she excused herself to the restrooms. Curiosity drove Dean to follow, dropping the plate at the bar on the way.

The distinctive sound of retching hit his ears. Anger and disgust curled in his stomach as his mind made intuitive leaps. When she exited the restroom, Dean was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Whoa. Way to be a creeper, Dean,” she tried to cover as she took a deep breath.

“You think I’m just gonna ignore that you were in there throwing up?”

Shame and fear flicked across her face before she hid it behind a mask of nonchalance. “The scotch hit my stomach weird. No big deal,” she said, moving to walk past him.

He grabbed her right hand by the wrist and lifted it in front of her face. “Those are teeth marks on your knuckles. You’ve been shoving your fingers down your throat!”

She yanked her hand back and looked at her feet. “D., I-”

“You’re so determined not to feel gross that you’re making yourself throw up? That isn’t _grosser_ to you?”

“You don’t understand-”

“No, I’m pretty sure I got a comprehensive picture of the shit you’re doing to yourself and why,” Dean argued back.

“It’s the only thing that works! I’ve been trying to lose weight since I was fourteen and the only time I make any headway is when I’m doing this!”

“Well, good for you. I’m sure you’ll look great when your teeth are fucked up and your throat is destroyed and your organs shut down!”

She looked up at him with teary green eyes. “Why are you being such an asshole about this? Mike isn’t even a dick about this.”

Dean’s eyes went wide. “Oh, he _knows_? He knows you’ve been doing this to yourself and he hasn’t _stopped_ you? That’s worse than being an asshole, sweetheart.”

She wiped at her eyes and started to head back into the main bar again. “It’s nobody’s business how I diet or cheat on my diet, Dean.”

Dean grabbed her shoulder and turned her, roughly, to look at him. “That’s what ‘cheating on your diet’ means? This is what he was encouraging you to do back in Alabama?”

“You were eavesdropping on us?” she squeaked, indignantly.

“You don’t whisper as good as you think you do,” Dean snapped. He bit his lip and let go of her shoulder. “This is not okay, Crash, and him encouraging it? That’s not okay, either.” He gestured to himself. “ _This_ is how people react when they find out someone they care about is doing something dangerous and stupid. They don’t encourage it, or come up with… cutesy non-threatening euphemisms for it. They get worried. They get pissed off. They demand that you stop… before you get too far gone.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I just don’t wanna hate myself anymore.”

“Well, then stop listening to the assholes who’re telling you that you’re not good enough. Look at me.” She looked up into his eyes and blinked rapidly, dispelling some of the tears. “You don’t have to do this. You’re gorgeous. You don’t need to kill yourself over a few extra pounds.”

“I’m a whole extra person too big, Dean. It’s not a few extra-”

“That doesn’t matter! Fuck, will you _look_ at yourself?! Really fuckin’ look.” He pointed at the mirror with the Corona logo over it. “Those eyes, those lips, cute as fuck dimples, little nose, all those freckles, and let’s not mention those tits, I mean…” He came around behind her and set his chin on the top of her head, watching her in the mirror. “You are hot as Hell, Crash. You don’t need to do this.”

Dean watched as tears started rolling down her face. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“Because you’re my friend, sweetheart, and I care. I’m not a sociopath like your husband.” She stepped away and turned to look at him. “Are you gonna stop?”

“Yeah. I’ll stop.”

“Good.” Dean nodded, hoping she wasn’t just telling him what he wanted to hear. “When’s the last time you actually kept something down?”

“I eat rice cakes every day… sometimes pickles.”

“That’s not food. I’m gonna get you a corn dog.” When Dean returned from the bar, she was setting up a game of pool. “We gonna play while we wait for your food? You ain’t too mad at me?”

She looked up at him and smiled. “No. I’m not. I know it’s because you care.” Her smile brightened as she set the cue ball in the middle of the table and grabbed her stick. “I don’t want my bullshit to ruin a fun night.”

“Atta-girl. You gonna break?”

“If you don’t mind.” Dean gestured at the table and she leaned over the table to line up the shot. The break was almost perfect, sending balls across the felt forcefully and knocking the 7 into the side pocket.

Dean watched as she moved around the table, calling out her shots before sinking each solid-colored ball in the pockets. He hadn’t even had a single opportunity by the time she sunk the 8. He scoffed as she moved to lean against the edge of the table. “Either you are an insanely fast learner, or you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie!” she said, indignantly. “I said I _don’t_ play, not I can’t play.”

“Oh? Then why’d you let me spend the whole first game coaching you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I liked you standing way too close to me and telling me what a good job I was doing.”

Dean smirked, slightly. Every once in a while she flirted back… and it was amazing. “You hustled me.”

She giggled. “Is it really hustling if there was no money involved?”

He nodded and stepped closer to her, setting his hands on the edge of the table on either side of her, boxing her in as he leaned down next to her ear. “Yes. You hustled me for affection.” He heard her breath catch in her chest and he could imagine her face burning red. “You don’t gotta hustle me, baby. Just gotta ask.”

When he pulled back, her hands were curled around the edge of the pool table so hard that her knuckles had gone white. He smiled at her and stepped back. “So, if you can play like that, why don’t you?”

She took a deep breath and shook her head to physically clear her mind and pushed away from the table. “I _can’t_ … always play like that. Most of the time, I scratch three out of five shots and sink the 8 early or something. Mike always wins.”

Dean rolled his eyes, hard. “So, he psychs you out so you can’t play around him, so you don’t play.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, maybe someday I’ll take you with me to earn some cash. You’re a damn good hustler.”

“Why, thank you,” she said with a smirk.

“I’ma go grab your corn dog,” Dean said, patting her shoulder as he walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You promise you’re done with all that bullshit, right?” Dean turned to her as he put the Impala in park outside of Cassie’s apartment.

“I promise.”

“And if Mike tells you to start it up again, what do you tell him?”

“To suck a dick, I’m gorgeous just how I am.”

“Good girl.” Silence filled the car. This was the point of the night where Dean would usually slip his hand into a woman’s hair and pull her into a kiss. But not this woman. Not this night. Not with her daughter waiting for her upstairs and her husband just waiting to have a reason to fuck with her head and heart. “He gives you shit, call me.”

“Thanks, Dean, but… I can handle him.” Both of them knew that was wishful thinking more than an outright lie. “Text me when you get back to Lebanon safe. That’s a long drive.”

“Not even close to the longest drive I’ve done, Crash.”

“Still. Please?”

Dean smiled, softly, and nodded at her. “I’ll text you as soon as I get back to the bunker, okay?”

“Okay.” She nodded and leaned over, wrapping him in a hug. “Thank you for… _everything_ tonight.”

“We’ll have to do it again.” Dean returned the hug. “I’d like to see you again sooner than a freakin’ year.”

She pulled back and nodded, happily. “Definitely.” She leaned forward again and pressed her lips to his cheek. “You’re, like, one of my best friends and it’s absurd how much I miss you considering we’ve only met three times.”

He chuckled as she twisted and opened the door, sliding out. “See ya, Crash!”

“Bye, Dean!” she called as she started up the stairs. As she disappeared into the dark apartment, Dean pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the interstate. He smiled as he let the fingers of his right hand trace the phantom lip-print on his cheek.


End file.
